Your job is eating you up, you need some more sleep real bad, he won’t call you in a hundred years, and on the street, everyone stares at you alone. You have thought it all over, and you have come to the conclusion that this is going to be a long battle, maybe 50 years to go, despite the cigarettes.
And while you are pondering, still walking through the same streets, sporadically staring back, you have a peculiar thought , obviously coming from a malfunctioning neuron, which then spreads along the paths this sad old neuron is linked, settling down in your cerebrum, gradually transforming into a decision. Maybe if you, everything will.... at least for a while.
You’re walking down the street, frequently staring back, in the meantime, expediting a little, heading home for setting things up. You don’t call him either, but a mail will be alright. Of course, he declines, so you can continue with plan a, which you realise, already sad before even beginning, but feeling some strange sort of triumph. Tolerating people asking you what for, this little uneasiness in your stomach and all the annoyances, yet you start wondering how this pitiful nerve cell could ever take control over several billions of its companions. But now it’s too late, and in a day, it will be over anyway, so you keep on with it.
When it happens, several billions of neurons give in within five seconds. You haven’t eaten nor drank for half a day, the sun burning down onto you alone, he hasn’t called, you have a spasm in your left foot, you stink! and someone stares at you, but you only have eyes for the sun which is, all of a sudden, beautiful, as is the moon coming up in the red sky peering down onto you little geek, standing there smiling madly at a casino, a townhall, a hat and even a person, and you and your sole naive neuron take a snapshot. What you came for doesn’t last long, but you keep your insane smile all the way back to reality, knowing that the sun and the moon will keep stopping by... at least for a while.
Lester, I don’t know whether I should be grateful for being thrown into this strange place, but believe your old companion Ricky Fitts, sometimes things, and may it be a plastic bag or some other little thing, can get so beautiful they just break your heart into tiny little pieces, and all you can do is stare in amazement.